


Southern Comfort

by assassin_trifecta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: But then it turned real serious, Civil War ghosts, Ghosts, M/M, Possession, This started out as a joke, partial-possession, salt-and-burn hunt, spooky old mansion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassin_trifecta/pseuds/assassin_trifecta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Johnathan Karthen returns home to Tennessee for the holiday after the first semester of his senior year in college, he's not at all surprised to be treated like a guest in his household. Shunted into the generations-old family house on his great-great-great-great grandfather's plantation because of his little sister's birthday, John has to deal with the spirit of his Confederate officer ancestor before none other than the Winchester brothers arrive - as they usually do - just in the nick of time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home for the Holidays

John Karthen had been a little boy the last time it had happened. Visiting the family house down on the old plantation in Tennessee, he had been visited by his great-great-great grandfather’s spirit. John was named after the man, and every woman in his family claimed that he looked just like old photos of the man. Johnathan Karthen (the first) had been a celebrated officer within the Confederate army during the United States Civil War, and though most of John’s friends from up North had made fun of him for his loser ancestry, he took great pride in his family tree.

                Johnathan’s home had been in the family for generations already when _he_ was a young man, and by the time that John’s mother had inherited it, the place was creaking and ancient, but soon-to-be renewed. When John was a boy, his mother had started the refurbishment, and by the time that he was in his last year of college, it was finally finished.

                “You’ll be stayin’ in the family house, then?” John’s mother had asked him over dinner one night during the Winter break between semesters of his senior year. “Your father and I are entertainin’ one of those wealthy New York families who thinks their money is older than ours,” she let out a short laugh at this, as though the prospect of anyone else in America going back the same number of generations as the Karthen’s had was absolutely preposterous. John had hardly been paying attention to her whole speech, so far, but this part was starting to get interesting.

                “Isabelle met their daughter at her last race,” Elizabeth Karthen rattled on, accepting the bowl of mashed potatoes that the very same daughter she spoke of passed to her. “And those girls just hit it off faster than their horses ran – which is sayin’ something ‘cause they got first and second place –“ she added with a wink at Isabelle, who flattered her eyelashes appreciatively as any good little southern girl would do. “And you know it’s your sisters birthday coming up in a week so we’ve got everyone comin’ down and there isn’t a lick of room in our house to hold anyone else.”

                While she spoke, John’s mom busied herself with filling everyone’s plates, barely looking up at John while she shunted him out of the house. He couldn’t blame her, though. He was already twenty three years old, and he couldn’t remember the last time that his parents hadn’t treated him like a guest in their house over any type of break that he had in school.

                “I hate stickin’ you in that creepy old place,” she finally looked up at him, almost-sincere sympathy written across her expression. “But it’s just got to be done, John, I’m so sorry. Look at it this way, though, it’s all renovated and everything, it’ll be better than when you were a boy.”

                John had highly doubted that at the time, and it turned out that he had been right.

                For one thing, the town was bustling with the news that the renovations to the old Karthen house had finally come to an end. The Karthens had pretty much owned all of the property that their little town had started on and over the generations of expansion, each Karthen patriarch had made a determined effort to keep the town under his control. By the time the twenty first century rolled around, the people of the town were so indebted to John’s family that he didn’t know where to start when explaining it to outsiders.

                So when John pulled up to the old family residence and the number of local journalists had seemingly multiplied and converged onto one area around the gate, he was understandably annoyed with his mother.

                “Come on, folks,” he pleaded with the press when he was close enough to them to unroll his window and speak. “I just got back from college, and I’d really appreciate the privacy.”

\---

The last time that John had been in the family house was before his little sister had even been born. He had stayed in the second bedroom beside his parent’s, so it wasn’t the master room, but the fact remained that there was a constant spectral visitor in the threshold of the room that was more than unnerving.

                “Grandaddy?”

                John looked around the house, feeling more than a little bit foolish that he had immediately assumed that the house was actually haunted. He knew better than that. He’d been an idiot kid when he was ‘haunted’ by his namesake ancestor.

                “Shit, John, you’re no fool…” he sighed to himself, carrying his bags past the foyer and into the main room.

                Fool or not, he’d failed to notice that, upon passing the mirror in the foyer, the reflection of a Confederate officer had been frowning at him the whole time. 


	2. Kinda Douchey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds a case that Dean isn't so keen on taking.

“Hey, Dean.”

                Dean Winchester was hardly paying attention to his younger brother as he meandered over to the main table of the bunker and slapped down a newspaper in front of his cereal bowl. In fact, Dean was more surprised to see Sam awake so early and with a newspaper no less.

                “Where’ve you been?” the older hunter grunted, scanning his eyes over the affronting newspaper before looking up at his younger brother. “And why the hell’re you up so early, you’ve got to get some rest.”

                Pretending to ignore Dean’s question, Sam landed his finger down onto the headline of one of the smaller articles on the front page of the paper. “From a little town in Tennessee.” He stated simply, motioning down at the paper with his eyes for Dean to read.

                And read he did. With a frown on his face and a reproachful glance at his brother, Dean picked up the paper, glancing over the other headlines before he landed on the article that Sam wanted him to read. At first he wondered why Sam had made him read it in the first place, and then he wondered where the younger hunter had gotten a paper from such a seemingly small town in Tennessee, but then he got what Sam wanted him to see.

> **Gunshot Heard at Newly Refurbished Family Mansion**
> 
> Late last night, after the arrival of town heir Johnathen Karthen, 23, to his family’s generation old mansion on the Karthen Plantation just outside of town, gunshots were heard from inside of the home. Johnathen was perceived to be the only visitor to the house since the refurbishments were completed on the old mansion, and local worry for the young up-and-coming rose to new levels until a statement was made earlier today.
> 
>           “I was the only one in the house,” Johnathen claimed, looking disheveled from the event. “And as far as I know, there was no one else on the property.”

                Dean set the newspaper down, disregarding the rest of the article that was essentially just praising the kid in question for being an all-around good southern gentleman. He turned to his brother instead, raising an eyebrow at the taller man.

                “Gunshots?” Dean asked, pursing his lips at Sam. “Gunshots, really?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “Sammy, that could have been anything, you know that.”

                “Yeah but this kid was the only person that was there,” Sam pointed out, making Dean sigh, defeated, in the act of pulling his cereal bowl back towards himself. “I’m just saying, it’s the same kind of stuff that we used to chase down before all of this demons and angels crap.” He looked down at his brother, a frown set on his face. “I’m just saying, we should look into this.”

                Dean scowled into his bowl, eyebrows pulling down over his eyes. “Whatever,” he grunted. “But you’re packing up, got it?” he asked, shooting a pointed glare up at Sam before turning back into his bowl.

\---

Dean hadn’t gone undercover as a press agent in a long time. Both he and Sam had decided that federal agents, while able to swing around credentials and abuse their powers, just weren’t the right masks to put on when visiting a frightened southerner who had been shot at perhaps by spectral assassins.

                “I hate this.” He grumbled, pulling at the ends of the – incredibly douchey – jacket that he had to wear that didn’t quite fit in the worst possible ways. He stretched himself out, and when he heard the ripping at the seams on his shoulders, relaxed with a satisfied smirk. At least now he could move.

                “Just deal with it.” Sam glared at him, straightening up when someone approached them where they stood at the gate. “And remember we’re doing a study for-“

                “A paranormal research journal, I know, I know.” Dean growled in response under his breath. “Makes me feel even _more_ douchey.”


	3. Damned Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnathen meets the Winchesters, disguised as researchers, and teaches them a little family history.

“So where did you fellas say you worked?” John Karthen stared across him at the two strange men that had appeared at his gates after all of the fuss from the regular press had died down. They were tall, built like fighters, and had the air of whiskey and guns that made John think they were anything but press agents. Still though, he had met some strange people in his life, and he’d always been taught by his momma that judging from first glance was a direct ticket to Hell.

                Trying not to think of his mother chiding him for his hopefully mistaken judgments, John lead the two men up the path to the main gates of the house. He questioned them while they all walked, and hoped that he looked like more than a frightened little southern boy.

                “The Journal of American Paranormal Research,” The taller of the two said with a confident smile. “I’m Sam Emerson, and this is my partner Dean Palmer.”

                Startled by the answer, John paused mid-step to look back at the two of them. “So where’s Lake?” he asked, raising a blond eyebrow and hoping that his question would break the awkward air between the three of them.

                Sam and Dean shared a glance, but it was hard for John to work out the meaning of it when, almost instantly afterwards, Dean let out a laugh and pat John on the shoulder. “Coincidence,” he stated simply, smiling at the blond. “But we think you might have something on your hands that you don’t quite understand.”

                “I know what I have.” John stated simply, turning from Dean’s awkward cheeriness to continue along the path. Stepping up onto the old porch, John let out a short laugh. He didn’t turn toward the two journalists as he spoke, only moving to open the screen door to let them in. “It’s my great-great-great granddaddy.”

                Another look passed between Sam and Dean, but this time John could discern the meaning rather quickly. They were startled, to say the least, that John had so openly admitted to what he was dealing with.  They looked almost taken aback, but recovered quickly from their startle. The Southern man could hardly hold back another chuckle as he gestured the two reporters in.

                “It happened plenty when I was a boy,” he started to explain, unable to hold back a smirk when he caught Sam and Dean’s expressions as they passed him to step into the house. John walked in afterwards, closing the screen door behind him and shuffling past the men to lead them through the foyer and into the main parlor. Remembering himself and his standing as part of the Southern gentry, John gestured to the strange mix of contemporary and Victorian seating.

                “Please,” he continued, all charm and smiles. “Make yourselves at home. Can I get you anything to drink? Iced-tea, lemonade?”

                The two of them sat and Sam cleared his throat, glancing once at his partner, though he received no confirming look back. When he answered, John took that he spoke for both of them.

                “No, thank you,” he started, shifting in the old armchair that John remembered from when he was a boy. “We’d actually like to hear more about your grandfather. What makes you think it’s him?”

                The ease with which he and Dean caught on made John a little uneasy, but he took his favored chair by the large bay window in the parlor and shifted it to face them better. “Great-great-great grandfather.” He corrected first, gathering his thoughts once more to better explain his situation. John cast his gaze around the parlor, looking about for any signs of spiritual disturbance.

                “Right.” Sam nodded in confirmation, pulling out a notepad and pen. “You said this happened a lot when you were younger?”

                “Yes,” John nodded his head, shifting forward in his seat and crossing his right ankle over his left knee. “My mother, father, and I used to come here to oversee some of the renovations that were going on the house. You see, this place has been in my family for quite some time. Since before the Civil War was even an idea in the heads of the Confederacy. The economy has been so frazzled in the past decades that my immediate family was the first generation that could do meaningful repairs on the place. When I was a boy, things were just starting to kick up and I think something triggered the spirit of my great-great-great grandfather.

                “Johnathen Karthen, was his name. Which is where I got mine, believe it or not. Back in the day he was an officer in the Confederacy, big power for a man of the Southern gentry, and this was his plantation. Grandaddy Karthen was the man that got the family name on the map, pretty literally. This whole town was financed by him, pretty much. The Karthens own a lot of the land in the territory, and Grandaddy made sure that everyone knew it. After the war was over and the Confederacy lost, he put every effort into rebuilding the Union. A lot of people hated him for it, but what he did got the family a lot of recognition, and more money than we’d had in a long time, though we were by no means unwealthy, even throughout the war.”

                Pausing, John looked around the parlor again, making sure that there was still nothing triggering his grandfather’s reappearance. For a moment, the only sound was Sam’s pen scratching along the notepad at the speed of light. When he caught up, he looked at John to continue.

                “Now, my granddaddy did something that was even crazier than rebuilding the Union with all of his efforts. He married a Yankee girl three years after the war. A woman from New York by the name of Samantha Anderson. She was of wealth and proper standing, but the thought of a former Confederate officer marrying someone whose family had put men and money into the Union, and so soon after the war had ended, set some of the townsfolk off.” Again, John paused to look around, but did not wait for Sam’s signal this time before continuing. “The people, they armed themselves good, but Johnathen had seen war, and he’d kept the place well stocked with personal weaponry. He was no slack with a revolver, and gunned down six of the men before he was taken over. They shot him, thinkin’ they’d ended the family name.

                “Southerners were pretty stupid then, I guess, ‘cause they didn’t even think about the woman and child-“

                “Wait,” Dean interrupted for the first time, his eyebrows brought together in confusion. “Child?”

                For a moment, John stared at the man, briefly thinking him stupid. “This is the eighteen sixties, we’re talking about, sir, in the South no less.” He replied, giving a short chuckle once more. “You’re not married until consummation, and consummation usually led to babies. A boy, if you’re blessed, and blessed Samantha Anderson-Karthen was.”

                Another glance passed between the two of them, and Sam and Dean shifted forward to hear more.

                “Mother and child hid in the wine cellar. Little baby Will Karthen supposedly didn’t make a sound when he heard his daddy get shot in the garden, but Samantha was a vengeful woman and dedicated the rest of her life to putting those men in jail and torturing their wives. She turned into a real Southern belle, that one did. When William was old enough he took over the family name and it went on from there, but Johnathen died hard, fast, and angry. I don’t think there’s any other explanation for what I’m dealing with here, and what’s more – I’ve seen him.”

                “Seen him?” Sam asked, pausing in his scribbling to raise an eyebrow up at the younger man. “What do you mean, seen him? Where?”

                “In his old bedroom.” Standing, John looked toward the stairs. “It’s where I sleep. I’ll show you.”

                Sam and Dean stood after him, Sam closing his notebook before following through the house once again. They passed more strange mixes of modern and ancient décor, but the second floor of the house seemed to affirm its place in the Civil War.

                “It’s a little bit of a mess right now,” John explained to the two reporters when he finally stopped outside of a large oaken door at the end of the hallway. “It’s only my second night back from college and my mother and father shoved me in here to keep me away from the rest of the family.” He put his hand on the door handle, but drew it away quick as lightning.

                “Shit-“ he hissed, eyes widening. “It’s freezing.”

                Without waiting any further, John swung the door open, staring forward into his bedroom with the same surprised eyes as a gust of cold air passed over the three of them.

                “Grandaddy-?” he gasped, staring at the image of his great-great-great grandfather, who had turned to face them quickly, as though he was a child that had just been caught doing something that he should not have been doing, though he was only standing at the end of the bed.

                “Your momma is a damned fool, boy.” Johnathen Karthen commented calmly, his image disappearing in a mist.


	4. Dem bones?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean spill the beans, and Johnathan finds it quick and easy to catch on, but there are some complications to their plan that neither of the brothers prepared for.

Dean jerked forward, pushing the younger Karthen behind himself so he could advance on the specter in front of them. All too soon, though, the ghost of Johnathan’s great-great-great grandpa was gone and he and Sam were left with little to work with.

            “Shit.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well that didn’t work out the way I thought it would.”

            When he turned back around, John Karthen was looking at him in a mixed state of shock and confusion. Clearly the Journal of American Paranormal Research cover was blown at this point, which to Dean was remarkable, considering it was some roleplaying shtick that Sam found from Google. He gave the young Southerner a shrug, which was the best he could offer in a pinch, and was glad that his brother interjected as quickly as he did.

            “The thing is, Johnathan,” Sam said calmly, stepping forward so he wouldn’t startle the blond. “We’re pretty sure you’re in danger.”

            “But that’s my granddaddy-“ he started to interject, but Sam held up his hand to halt him.

            “Sure, he’s you’re relative, and it sounds like you feel pretty close to him,” and Dean could tell by Sam’s tone that he thought it was a little bit weird. Hell, Dean thought it was a little bit weird, but it was no coincidence that the kid looked just like the man, and had his name to boot.

            “But he’s been here a long time, if what you said earlier was true. He died in a stressful situation and he’s been mulling in it for close to a hundred and fifty years, now.” This seemed to mollify John for a moment, so Sam kept going, hoping that the sense of general understanding of the situation that he got from the kid earlier was helping him out. “And how would you feel if someone that you didn’t know - related or not - came barging into your house and started doing mass renovation when you liked it just how it was. He’s been disturbed, somewhere, and he’s not liking it.”

            “Spirits that stay in this world for too long, especially disturbed spirits like grandpa over here,” Dean interjected, feeling a little bit left out and like he had fallen too far out of the good graces of the kid. “They turn real mean real fast, and I don’t think that Captain Spooky had any good intentions toward you or your family. ‘Specially after what he said about your mom.”

            “Colonel,” Johnathan corrected quietly, looking into his bedroom, feeling like he was making a big mistake by staying in that house, though he knew that he didn’t have much of a choice. “He was a Colonel for the Confederacy.” Dean could tell by the look on his face that Johnathan was starting to piece things together, and he didn’t like the way the kid’s face fell when he realized what would have to be done.

            “Right,” the older Winchester nodded, his voice a little more gruff than before. “But you see, Sam and I deal with this sorta stuff. We take out the monster-movie bad guys and make places like this easier to live in.” he gestured around the house, at the old walls and furniture. “And your grandpa, well, he’s not going to be so nice for much longer. He poses a real threat to you, and, apparently, to your family.”

            John’s face turned down further, and Dean didn’t know why it tugged so bad at his heartstrings.

            “So you’re saying you wanna kill my granddaddy… again.” He stated, looking between the two, not so much asking them but telling them he thought it was a dumb idea. “And how do you intend to go Ghost bustin’ around the house, hm? My momma would have a _fit_ if she knew y’all were here.”

            “Not so much kill as pass on.” Sam took his turn to correct the blond now, making an attempt at soothing him where Dean had floundered helplessly. “If he stays restless like this forever, he’s just going to pose more and more of a threat, trust me. We can get rid of hi-“ he paused at the strangely pained expression across John’s face at those words, and quickly revised. “We can help him move on if we know where his bones are, so that he doesn’t have to stay trapped in this environment for much longer, just getting angrier and angrier.”

            John made a face that didn’t exactly settle either of the brothers’ wariness.

            “Well that’s gonna be a little bit of an issue,” he started, looking between the two of them. “No one rightly knows where his bones are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so dang long, friends. I'll try to get this going again. I miss John as my character, so I'm looking forward to getting him going again.


	5. Minor Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few more issues arise as the brothers attempt to investigate the mysterious shooting at the Karthen family home. A missing body, an ancestral mystery... The story just keeps getting more and more twisted and the Winchesters grow more and more confused.

Johnathan looked between the two false journalists and could tell that neither of them had suspected his revelation.

            “What… what-whaddaya mean, no one knows where his bones are, I thought you said he was a Colonel,” Dean stammered, trying to wrap his head around the logic of the situation. “Wouldn’t he have gotten some big thing in a burial? He was an important man, wasn’t he?”

            “Well, yeah,” John nodded, and offered up a shrug. “But he’d also married a Yankee woman right after the war and had been a major voice in the rebuilding of the Union.” The blond stepped past Sam to close his bedroom door, relieved that the handle was no longer freezing cold. He gestured down the steps back to the first landing, and led the way while he continued to explain, all the air of gentry that he had assumed before leaving him after the scare of the Colonel. “Not to mention, Tennessee was sort of on the border during the Civil War. They were one of the last to leave and one of the first to rejoin the Union.

            “Colonel Karthen wouldn’t have been much of a war hero after rejoining the Union, the Confederates were seen as nothing more than treasonous. He got out of it by supporting regrowth of the nation as strongly as he did. He got a pardon from President Johnson and went about his way supporting the country. Like I said,” John stated, flopping back into his seat by the bay window unceremoniously and gesturing for Sam and Dean to retake theirs, if they wished. When everyone was seated he continued, watching Sam take out his notepad again and continue to scribble furiously in an attempt to keep up. “Men still loyal to the Confederacy didn’t like that. Simple men, that didn’t understand what granddaddy was tryin’ to do.”

            Dean shifted forward, confusion on his face. “So - so what, they just shot him and left him there, and his wife didn’t do anything about it?”

            Johnathan’s face contorted again, and when he looked up at Dean, he sighed. He could tell that the older man was only trying to understand, and he appreciated that an outsider was taking the time to listen to him ramble on about family history, sure, but he could tell that there was something behind Dean that made him forget how to soften his words. Whatever it was, he felt bad for the man.

            “Well, no, they took him somewhere. Don’t know what they did with him. Story goes that when Mrs. Karthen walked outta the house clutchin’ her baby, she couldn’t find her husband no-where. She knew he was dead, knew that he was gonna stay that way, and so she made the best of what she had in this house.” He looked around himself at the strange mix of American Victorian and high end modern brand furniture that he didn’t know the names of. “Lord knows if she’s somewhere in here too, though I doubt it. She died at peace, but she’d be right pissed if she knew what my momma did with this place.”

            Dean’s eyes widened briefly and he shook his head. “That’s not something I’d like to find out.” He stated, before nodding for Johnathan to go on.

            “But that’s about all anyone knows. Colonel Karthen was taken away, and buried somewhere, or Lord knows what happened. There was a funeral ceremony for him, sure, there are pictures up on the third floor landing, but no one actually knows where his body is.”

            Sam and Dean shared another look that Johnathan didn’t quite understand, but he didn’t question them.

            “Mr. Palmer, Mr. Emerson-“

            “Er,” Sam cleared his throat. “We’re uh… Our name is actually Winchester.” He looked over at Dean, nodding for him to explain further.

            “We’re brothers,” he continued, shrugging as if this weren’t a big thing. John wasn’t that surprised. They’d already lied to him about that whole reporter thing, he didn’t really need to know what they were actually in the business of. He didn’t care as long as they took care of this respectfully. “Like I said earlier, we take care of things that shouldn’t be around anymore.”

            John accepted this for what it was and moved on. He’d seen plenty in his life already, and didn’t doubt that these Winchester brothers had too. “Alright, I can accept that,” he nodded, shooting a short, polite smile at Dean, who gave him a strange expression that he didn’t quite understand in response.

            “Well,” Sam broke into the moment, raising his eyebrows at his brother. “If the Colonel is in the house,” he looked back at John finally, getting down to business once and for all. “Then his body’s got to be on the property somewhere. That’s generally how it goes.”

            Unable to hold himself back, John let out a snort of a laugh, an old bad habit that came back when he least expected it to, and when it was least appropriate.

            “What - this is funny to you?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. “Johnny, your family’s in danger, you’re in danger - and you’re- you’re _laughing_?”

            “On the property-“ John had to calm himself down from another bout of snorting laughter at this, which he struggled with for a little bit until he could finally look at the Winchesters again. “I’m sorry to tell you fellas this, but you’re gonna have more trouble searching the property than you think.” At their confused glances, John shook out another chortle. “Oh come on-“ he looked in disbelief at Sam, though he figured that in the surprise of the visit upstairs, the taller man would have forgotten. “You took notes, Samuel,” the blond nodded down to the notepad still in Sam’s hands. “I told you earlier that the Karthens have owned and financed this town since the Civil War. If you’re fixin’ to search the property, you’re gonna end up searching the whole damn _town._ ”

            Deep sighs escaped the Winchesters, who shared another look that John guessed was somewhere in between ‘they had a lot of work to do’ and second guessing their decision to visit. When they both looked back at John, he could see the weariness in their eyes. They’d been at this for a long time, he could tell.

            The least he could do was take some stress off of their visit.

            “But look,” the Southerner continued, softening his tones slightly, the humor mostly gone and the gentlemanly behavior returning as he prepared himself. “I can at least offer you a place to stay here, outta that shitty Motel Conga you’re probably staying at.” Before either of them could as how he knew that’s where they were, he held up a hand. “I may have been gone in college, but that place has been here since before I was born and remains the only joint in town where you can get a bed and a shower - neither of them decent - for a night or two.”

            The Winchesters seemed to weigh the offer between them, unsure of themselves. “Wouldn’t your family go ballistic?” Dean asked after a moment, raising his eyebrow in question.

            “My mom kicked me out of my house the day after I got home from college,” John stated, shaking his head. “I can tell her that I’m going to have a couple friends over and she’d only be worried about where you’re from.” As he said this, John realized that it was entirely true. Concerned that his mother would actually bring that up, he looked between the brothers. Sam didn’t have much of any accent to his voice, but Dean sounded like a weird mix between Texas and Virginia. “Where _are_ you two from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

            “Kansas.” Dean stated before Sam could answer something false before him. “Lawrence.”

            “That’ll be good enough for her.” Johnathan nodded, then cast his glance back between them. “It’ll be a short few nights, and if he comes back here then it’ll be easier to get something off of him then. Grandaddy was never cruel to me. When I was a boy, he… He told me stories sometimes. At least, I think he was telling me stories. Maybe I can figure out where he’s at and tell you two. It’d be easier that way.”

            Dean seemed to weigh the offer more than Sam did, and when he had thought about it for a significant amount of time, he nodded for both of them. “Sounds good.” He stated. “Much better than that dumpy place in town… No offense,” he added, shrugging toward John, who offered as much back.

            For a moment, it looked as if Sam might deny it, but he sighed along drawn out sigh. “Guess it can’t do any harm,” he agreed finally. He stood, then turned towards his brother. “Gimme the keys. I’ll go get the stuff from the motel and you… learn what you can.” He said it as if he didn’t trust his brother that much with learning anything, and the way Dean handed over the keys to their car said he didn’t trust Sam with the vehicle.

            “So,” Dean stated after the long moment of silence that Sam had left in his wake. The older man rubbed the back of his head awkwardly before looking back to John. “You mind showing me around?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know where this is going anymore I'm not sure what's happening I'm going to be honest. Fillers, fillers everywhere until I can find out a foothold to get my plot into again.


End file.
